Though the night had not yet passed, Lukas awoke from his trance, the nightmares that were once in his hand vanquished. Once again he found himself in the room of a crumbling hotel. He worked his way through the half-lit hallways, stepping over the multitudes of the jobless, the addicts, and the few expired who had not yet been removed. A man of underground power controlled the hotel, letting in only those most in need when there was ever room. Lukas was maybe the only one with his own room and bed, his strength to control and overcome the darkness that lay within used DreamStones holding sway over anybody else. Only the very rich were surviving while the rest succumbed to poverty and homelessness, the hotel one of the few standing monuments to pronounce the darkened times.

Lukas cursed the GC; the Genitum Corp. Governments would probably have quickly banned the use of DreamStones, had it not been for the GC holding power over them. With one seemingly simple invention, the private corporation felled the governments, controlling all power that existed. Those who could no longer afford to live under the new government had only DreamStones as an escape; the very creation of the GC that had sent the world into such dark and desperate times.

            Queen Leanne was the ruler of a far and distant land where a thousand fields of fruit and food grew and flourished. The land was lush and fertile, animals fat and people healthy. There was no monotony in the lives of the people in the Queen’s land; joy ruled their actions and respect was an unbroken law.

            A traveler from lands the Queen had never heard of arrived one day. He announced himself as a Puzzlemaker. The Queen was intrigued by this, enjoying puzzles and riddles to the point that the people of the land called her “The Sharp Queen” or more informally; “Sharpie.”

            By request of the Queen, the Puzzlemaker met with her and they talked. “What puzzles do you bring to this land?” she asked him.

            “Milady, I bring you but one question, and it is not merely to this land, but created for your majesty herself. The answer to this question will spawn a new question, and the answer to that, a new question still. Upon your correct answering of all three, your last puzzle will await.” The Puzzlemaker reached into a bag and pulled out a sphere the size of a fist. A strange light flooded the room, brilliant and bright, yet soothing to the eyes. “What does this Sphere mean?” he asked.

            The Queen wondered aloud at the puzzle, hoping to spot a sign from the Puzzlemaker’s features. “I wonder... the light is very tranquil, almost as a sort of longing, though...”

            The Puzzlemaker’s eye sparkled sadly, but in an instant it was gone. The Queen figured that “longing” was either for a later question, or somehow pertained to the Puzzlemaker himself. The Queen spoke again.

            “The light seems to shine in a way that is free of anything... it is exactly like the Sphere itself! Free of anything else... so it must be... pure. It is pureness.”

            The Puzzlemaker smiled, “Congratulations, your highness. You know pureness; I see it in you clearly. Sight into purity is purity itself, but do you see further?” He brought out of the bag a second Sphere.

            Once again, the Queen spoke of the Sphere, though the instinct to watch the Puzzlemaker for clues had now passed. She had many ideas and possibilities for this one. “This Sphere seems not to be complex, but made of complexity itself; the light is full and helps detail the Sphere, giving it a... depth! But of course! The Sphere means deepness!”

            “Correct,” said the Puzzlemaker. Though his voice and actions were calm and still, his face shone with an energy as great as the Queen’s anticipation. Even as the Puzzlemaker’s bag was opened, light poured out in fullness. The Sphere that he brought out was simple, like the Purity Sphere, yet had the feeling of Deepness as well. He had no need to ask the question.

            “The Sphere is a sense of completion, having equal radiance in a very surrounding manner. It is both deep and pure, a link and building block for the previous two. It is complete, all, everything. It is wholeness.”

            This time, the Puzzlemaker’s smile was as radiant as the Spheres, and a tear slowly crawled down his cheek. He made to talk, but the Queen spoke first.

            “I know your fourth and final puzzle. The three were a test. Any wrong answer would have you swiftly on your way to, perhaps, a more worthy one than I. And yet I prevailed, the mystery of your three Spheres cracked open, and the fourth discovered because of it. You brought yourself as the fourth puzzle, that being discovered through sight of purity, of deepness, and of wholeness. Long have I myself searched for one to share this beautiful land with. Your test on me was also a test on you, and I see that with all Three.”

            And so the Puzzlemaker joined the Queen, their days spent in joy and contentment, remembered long afterwards, the benevolent duo of their land.

            Lightning flashed in the distance and a thundering boom rolled across the water, reaching the seaside village. Mothers hugged their children who’s eyes were wide with fear and awe. The tales of old men near bedtime echoed in their ears, the stories of the supposed horrors of a Storm.

            There were gods in those thunderous black clouds, the old men had said. Gods who’s chilling darkness bore death before them on insatiable beasts of perplexity. The beings within those clouds were beyond human comprehension, but unquestionable knowledge provided that where a Storm traveled, the land became twisted, barren and unlivable. The residue of the evil of a Storm was death to anything and everything.

           Inland, a league from the village there stood a towering mound of stone and dirt. A man driven by fear approached it, and sprinted up the path on the slope of the steep hill. The path became a staircase, which wove in and out of the towering land like the paths of worms in a rotting apple. The stone-cut staircase was uneven and slippery, but the man rushed up the steps with more urgency then ever before. His cloak flapped behind him as the wind threw itself upon the winding monument and the dry, crackling lightning danced on the horizon, ever approaching. By the time the man reached the hut on the top, after several small tunnels, he was nearly out of breath. He pounded his fist on the thick oak door, the boom resonating alongside the thunder of the Storm.

            “Open up! We need your help!” he cried. Somewhere inside, pottery smashed to the floor, and an uneven stumbling approached the door. The oak swung wide, and the hunched old man stared intently into the young man’s eyes. “I...”

            “Shouldn’t be here,” the old man interrupted, “Yet...”

            “We need...”

            “My help, I know. No need to repeat yourself, young Raji Pandora. Come in.”

            “Please, sir. We have no time.” Raji said as he ducked through the doorway and followed the old man inside. They sat at a humble table and the old man continued to stare.

            “So why come? I have told your people many times before; I will not help you if a Storm attacks. A Storm is Chaos, and I have no desire to pass through that realm a second time.”

            “But you did survive!” Raji pleaded, “You know, and knowing is preparation.”

            “Preparation only for death? Raji, the Chaos that is inside a Storm is the emptiness we all fear. It is Death, and we are Life. Nothing can stop the two from clashing together.”

            Raji became exasperated at the old man’s words. “You mean to say that you, as a form of Life, will idly stand by and watch more like you suffer and perish?”

            “I can do nothing!” the old man shouted. A quiet began as the two stared at each other. The old man broke the silence first. “There are other villages and gatherings of people such as yours, Raji. You are not alone in the world.”

            “Nor are we alone in our pain. My people looked to you as a sign, a guiding light out of the darkness of these times!”

            “I never told them to! If you make a hero out of a mere man, you will be disappointed, and your hero will fail you.”

            “You never told them not to...”

            The old man sighed and got up. Unevenly, he swayed to the window and watched the lightning for a brief moment before turning back to Raji. “Do you know what I see when I look at a Storm?” Raji shook his head. “I see something natural. This is the way the world is. It is natural for people to die, even in the Chaos that is a Storm. Were there not Chaos in something such as that, there would be in something else, maybe even in the people themselves.”

            “Do not compare my people to the inhuman beasts that reside within those dark walls of mist.”

            “And do not forget that we are the same, Raji Pandora. I went through everything you experience now.”

            “Then for the sake of my people, how did you escape the wrath of a Storm?” Raji shouted. The old man’s eyes quivered with remembrance of his troubled past.

            “I will give you something, because I am too old to survive again, and because I feel it is my time to die. You are the only one now.”

            “What is it?” Raji questioned, “Will it save my people?”

            “My young Raji, it will save what it can of your people, like it saved what it could of mine. I was the only one then.”

            “No more idle talk, old man. Tell me, and I’ll rid this world of Chaos once and for all.”

            “Sadly, you won’t, Raji. This Box will save you from the Storm, but only you. It has remained unopened for all of its time, because that is the way it is meant to be.”

            “A box? What can it do?” Raji remained doubtful; the old man seemed to be speaking in a manner outside of his sanity.

            “Silence! Only listen now. This Box was given to the world of men by Gods greater than any within that Storm you see approaching.” The mention of the coming destruction of his village caused Raji to pine with impatience, but he held his tongue. “Its power will keep your body, soul and mind intact through any Chaos, but you must remember; this is for you and you alone. Pass it on when you grow tired of your life, but never open it, never suffer it to be opened by another. You can save what you know of your people in its last embodiment; yourself.”

            “Forsake all others?” Raji’s voice rose to its peak, “To save myself? You are selfish, old man! Your words bring shame to you, and all those who supposedly came before you. You may have abandoned your people, but I won’t abandon mine.”

            “Raji, don’t you see? If you do not take this chance, you will have abandoned them,” The old man reached behind him and brought forth a plain stone cube, twice the size of a fist. “Let them live in you, as you lived in them.”

            “They will live forever!” Raji shouted and leapt towards the old man. Easily overcome, the elder fell hard onto the floor. Raji grabbed the Box as he fell, and sped through the door, sliding and stumbling down the steep paths of the towered hill. As he ran, he heard the old man’s voice yelling behind him.

            “Raji Pandora! This will destroy us!”

            Tears streamed down his face as he reached the solid ground far below the old man’s hut. They were tears of joy, for he believed he had finally brought his people freedom. The fire inside of him burned brightly, fueling his efforts to reach the village as soon as possible, for the Storm’s black clouds were on the very edge of the land, lightning stretching to reach the people who dwelled there. As he neared, a shout came up from the villagers.

            “Pandora! Pandora brings the bane of Chaos!”

            Raji continued to run towards the storm, the lightning dancing all around him, but avoiding the Box and himself completely. Now he was beneath the clouds. Dark figures stretched out their fingers, reaching to destroy him and bring an end to the Box, yet an aura surrounded and protected him. He reached for the lid, the figures fleeing in pure fear. No sooner as he lifted the lid from the Box, a wind more powerful than even that of the Storm seemed to blow everything away from Raji. Only the light that poured from the Box reached him, piercing his eyes before it too blew away.

----_~*~_----

            Raji Pandora lay on the ground. He groggily lifted his face from the dirt, and looked out at the land. The Storm and the Box were gone, any trace of either completely dissipated. The huts still stood, strong as before to house the villagers. Yet, as Raji Pandora looked, he saw the villagers completely different now. They stood differently, they spoke differently, yet even these physical changes were nothing to how he truly saw them. The light of the Box had given new vision to him, and what he saw within the people was the same thing he had seen within the Storm. A Chaos coursed through their veins and wrapped around their minds, controlling every thought that came out. Only the infants and young children were spared of the horrors, yet the potential was clearly there. Raji looked and saw, and after he looked deeply into each one of the villagers, he put his head back down, and cried.